Metal Headboards and Crisp English
by HenrySugargotthereference
Summary: One-shots. Mostly written in the wee hours. Mostly OOC. Mostly sexy scandigayvians. You've been warned. \m/
1. Falling in Indigestion

Author's Note: I do not own Dethklok or Toki or Skwisgaar or the whole Scooby Doo gang (if I did they would be locked up in my basement). Credit goes to Blacha and Small yada yada.

Drabble one still has no dialogue, but we'll call that an artistic choice.

As always, thanks for reading. Cheers.

\m/

Skwisgaar had fallen into affection in a series of steps so gradual he didn't pick up on it at all, it was a process of years and countless memories. He'd not realized he was in so very deep, that he could care at all beyond himself, until the knowledge smacked him in the face so hard stars had winked at him behind his eyes; he hated the knowledge that he'd never even wanted in the first place. _Love,_ pfft.

When Skwisgaar heard the screaming through even the decidedly thick stone walls of Mordhaus, Skwisgaar relearned what he'd forgotten so long ago: the pestilence that was caring. The sound of hysterical screaming had crept up on Skwisgaar many a night only to be lost in the body of several women or the thrum of his guitar, but this night there was no way to distract from that horrible keening and he just couldn't ignore it anymore. His fingers had stilled on the frets in horror and the pick had dropped out of his hand, clink clink clinking on the floor. All the moments with the childish Toki had compounded into this one night, this feeling of compassion so foreign to Skwisgaar.

Skwisgaar had scrambled to pick up that little triangle of black plastic, while the larger—yet insubstantial—part of him was walking down the dark halls of Mordhaus to the tiny cell of a room, to knock on Toki's door, grab flailing wrists, and straitjacket a grown man in his arms.

Skwisgaar had ignored Toki's nightmares before and not felt a thing as he did so, but this time it actually _hurt_ not to stop Toki's pain.

Skwisgaar had never played his guitar so desperately, so long or brutally fast as he did that night, not even after he'd told his mother about one of her man 'friends' who'd touched him _there_ and Skwisgaar had caught her under the man later. _She'd not believed him_. That had been disgust and a betrayal so deep afterwards he'd puked till the rancid mess was bloodshot. Not even then had his playing been this frantic and the memory of her betrayal still made him feel small inside.

The Klokateers had whispered amongst themselves the day after and many a day since, guessing at the answer of why Master Skwisgaar's fingers were swollen immovable and his knuckles were mountains of pain when they came to treat them the next morning (a Swedish cry had roused the Klokateer 566 to Skwisgaar's room).

The Klokateer's thoughts had buzzed inside their heads with curiosity as they'd bandaged the rips of skin that made up all that was left of decades old callouses on the mangled fingers, awed and not a little bit concerned at Master's shell-shocked face and his ability to do himself harm.

\m/

Toki might have been strangling Skwisgaar. Maybe. But he was just so fucking angry and that face was just so smug Toki didn't really care.

Physically Toki could strangle Skwisgaar into submission. Emotionally, well, Toki wasn't really anything for thinking about that. He'd rather go colour a picture of a dragon than think about _feelings_ or how much it hurt to be put down all the time by the person he was closest to. But whatever.

It's just those eyes were so very blue and the world always got so quiet when Toki was in control. And with a life in his hands? Toki had the _ultimate_ control. Instead of going red and loud inside his brain during out-of-control moments it was blissfully silent when he bound the world to his whim. With his fingers squeezed tight Toki was as isolated as if he were in the very centre of the earth itself, cocooned and safe.

Toki could feel the pulse of life beneath his fingertips, knew he could stop the flow—and he thought about it, he really did, he was still psychologically damaged as ever—but it was those eyes, so pretty, like the deep blue of a glacier-fed lake (one you wanted to swim in on a hot day but knew you shouldn't) that stopped the tightening of his fingers.

Closing those eyes forever would be like snuffing out a blue flame and Toki always wanted to watch flames flicker because they were as entrancing as they were dangerous.

Decision made, sound returned to Toki's world, but from a distance. It was muffled, everything outside his head. Toki could hear a deep growl, a lisp and even an accent that wanted to intrude. But he didn't hear the voice with the accent so similar to his own, because Skwisgaar's wide eyes were trying to tell him something.

Toki's fingers unclenched and air gasped into starved lungs. Skwisgaar didn't even attack Toki when he was set free and a frown made its way to Toki's face. That reaction made no sense at all.

Toki was unaware of his discovery, didn't know he cared about Skwisgaar more than he should, but from that day on the knowledge of it floated in the back of his skull, in the bones of his feet, his blunt hands and even in the cage around his heart and lungs—still just out of reach. Sometimes the feeling would come up in little moments, in possessive streaks and in anger Toki couldn't figure out the source of.

Maybe one day Toki would understand it was love. But probably not. He'd been wondering what the pain in his chest was for a while now.

He'd dubbed it heartburn.


	2. Simply Sickening Fluff

When you were someone who didn't necessarily avoid affection, rather you didn't ever receive it, it was a curious feeling to wake up with someone's arms around you. That was exactly what Toki was feeling now and he was unsure how to react to the alien sensation. Affection as a child for Toki had been nonexistent and living with the most brutal band in the world it was absolutely frowned upon. Toki was finding he liked it though and finally settled on relaxing into the feeling like someone who'd finally found shade with a nice cool breeze on the hottest day of the year. Toki closed his eyes and hoped he and Skwisgaar wouldn't be disturbed anytime soon, burrowing closer into the refreshingly cool skin of a slender side.

They were just two figures made small in the giant ivory bed, blocking out the world.

Skwisgaar was content, a novel feeling. Skwisgaar didn't think he'd ever felt this centered outside the first time he'd put his fingers on a fret and struck a chord that didn't sound like shit. Since then Skwisgaar had either been drunk, hung-over, high, having sex or wearing his guitar like a pair of pants, and didn't have much time to go chasing after a feeling of peacefulness.

Skwisgaar reluctantly opened his eyes, hoping the sensation of calm wouldn't dissipate, and rolled them downwards to the man curled around him in an unyielding band of heat. Toki was surprisingly warm—almost hot—complementing the coolness of Skwisgaar's body. There was a reason Skwisgaar slept under fur, he was always ice cold at night, and now in the absence of shivering he wanted to luxuriate like a cat would as it lay curled up beneath a sunbeam.

As Skwisgaar looked at that young face and sleep-mussed mustache he noted Toki's eyes were so tightly shut that Toki couldn't actually be asleep. Toki was such a child sometimes and looking at him made the pit of Skwisgaar's stomach clench uncomfortably; it felt like Skwisgaar was taking advantage of Toki's innocence. Then Skwisgaar felt the strength of muscle in the arms around him and knew that at least most of Toki was a grown man if that was any comfort. He supposed Toki had earned the right to act a child after he endured a non-childhood built on scars. And it wasn't as if the rest of the band were really that mature either.

A strange sensation took root in the pit of Skwisgaar's stomach, replacing the uncomfortable guilt, and Skwisgaar thought it might be affection. Skwisgaar couldn't stop the urge to pull Toki closer and brush the long chestnut hair that had fallen into Toki's face out of the way. The hair was so silky Skwisgaar didn't want to let it go, so he didn't, and just continued to brush his hand through the strands in slow sweeping motions.

Toki let out a moan, blinking open his pale blue eyes. Toki had never felt the sensation of someone else's hand brushing through his hair and it felt so good, even comforting in a way.

"Heys." Skwisgaar's voice was still husky from disuse, sleep and now because of that unintentionally erotic moan, a little bit of arousal.

"Skwisgaar?" Toki's voice was questioning. "What's we doing?"

"I don'ts know Tokis. I really don'ts know." Skwisgaar leaned down anyway to capture Toki's lips with his own, wanting to drown all the uncertainties, somehow knowing Toki wouldn't protest the action.


	3. Back When We Hated Each Other

"Tokis!" The shout vibrated in his ear, louder it seemed at this early hour than the stacks of Krank amps on stage could be when they were pouring out the brutal sounds of Dethklok to the masses. If sounds were colours that shout was a dull smarting scarlet inside his head.

Toki shot up, looking blearily before his eyes adjusted. He blinked and unfortunately the image came into clearer focus; pale skin, hair and black cotton greeted him.

"What the fucks Skwisgaar? I's sleepings you sons of bitches!" Toki's voice was scratchy and irate.

"Ja, you is dildos babies. Sleeps more thans the grandmas I fucks." The red inside of Toki's skull was back. This time it was the colour of vein blood, darker to begin with, now old and drying.

_He had to bring up the sluts. _

If Toki hadn't looked down to see Deddy out of the corner of his eye he would've attacked Skwisgaar like a hybrid flying panther (because panthers would be so much more brutal if they could fly). As it was he nearly snarled.

Toki felt the edge of his shirt rub against the scars of his back. "Gets out." Toki's voice was cold.

Skwisgaar's impassive stare flickered for a moment as if he'd seen something disturbing in Toki's face, then it narrowed as if in disdain. Skwisgaar turned and left without a word.

Toki was left alone. He punched a pillow once...then punched it again and again before throwing it across the room.

Fucking dildo.

Toki grabbed Deddy and brought him under the covers where it was warm, tucking him nearer his heart, curled up like a protective caterpillar.


	4. Huh, so this is Reality?

"So Skwisgaar that ams basically you as dat Brad Pitts guy."

Nathan laughed and it was gutteral as always. Murderface was on the floor, passed out with his ass in the air and Pickles had left an hour ago to go get more booze. They'd established Pickles was a douchebag for not bringing them along when they saw him on the _Dethklok Minute_ fifteen minutes earlier. He'd been doing a line of coke off the breast off the Virgin Mary...during a baptism. Seemed like a good time and metal tits, were, well, metal.

Now they were watching _Fight Club_ and Murderface had kissed the carpet.

"Yeah. Look at him go on that homeless chick. He probably, uh, has almost as many STD's as you Skwisgaar." Nathan slurred through the speech then chugged down the rest of his beer.

Toki piped up, voice high-pitched distorted, "That's one nasty sluts Skwisgaar."

Skwisgaar tried to defend himself, "Dat guys got billions an womens. Pfft he is betters dan everyone else. I ams definitely dat guy in da reals world! So whatsevers! Dat's him just actings."

Tokis laughed and then he tried to speak: "Yeah you're both," Here Toki got up from the spikey couch and swayed a little, beer in hand, "Narcsticists! What Doctor Twinkletits said." He then tried to look straight at Skwisgaar but the room was sort of spinning.

"Dat guy knows what he talks about toos so noes denying!" Aaaand Toki was on the floor.

Nathan's two alcohol soaked brain cells had an idea.

"We should draw on, um, those two douchebags. And then find Pickles. Yeah, that would be metal." He nodded to himself.

"Hey, Nathan's?" One side of Skwisgaar's mouth quirked up in an actual smile. "Wheres we put that defribskrillator?"

Nathan's bellow filled up the room, "Hey! Hey! You!" He was pointing at a Klokateer, "Find me that defreb, defribrill, that thing that shocks stuff! Right now. Or you're fired."

Skwisgaar's voice had layered onto Nathan's, "…and somes perkskanentals marksers. Now!"

The Klokateer scuttled out of the room.

\m/

Toki's body jerked like a marionette, every muscle tensing, then he slumped back down like a noodle. It wasn't quite as fun pouring painful volts of electricity into Toki when he was passed out...but it was still pretty fucking fun.

"He's like a puppets!"

"I think he's dead." Nathan didn't seem too concerned.

"Huh." Neither was Skwisgaar.

"Well, I'm gonna, um draw a dick on Murderface and stick this hotdog in his mouth. So." Nathan walked away.

Skwisgaar shrugged and called up for some sluts.


	5. Reality Bites

Author's Note: Just a continuation of the last 'reality' one-shot. _THIS_ bit is definitely not reality. Can you imagine Skwisgaar leaving a willing lady...?

It wasn't until after Nathan passed out with three girls still rubbing various parts of Nathan's body that Skwisgaar sent the sluts away. He'd thought about doing it for the better part of the past hour, even during the sub-par blowjob he'd gotten. The sluts didn't notice how his gaze would sway ever so often in the direction of Toki, just to see he wasn't choking on puke and his chest was still moving, all they cared about were themselves, being with _the_ Skwisgaar Skwigelf.

That man-child really knew how to ruin a good night of debauchery even passed out.

Currently Skwisgaar crept toward Toki, trying to act casual, frequently looking back at Nathan and to Murderface smashed into the carpet. Neither had twitched a muscle or an eyelid. The weed had made him somewhat suspicious and the booze had lost most of its influence; still it was just a _little_ too dulling on his senses for him to be sure of his actions or not being watched by the homophobic duo.

He kneeled down beside Toki, a marker in hand.

"Ohs Toki, you stupids little dildo." A quick glance and Skwisgaar knew he was still safe.

I am Jack's smirking revenge...

A pants button opened, then a zipper. Skwisgaar's name was written on the part that most belonged to him. Dat ass. Then he tenderly jerked the pants back up and slapped the man hard to the face. Skwisgaar was remembering enduring all the booze soaked walks back to the bedroom with strong arms trying to clumsily grope him.

"Hey." Skwisgaar shook a muscled shoulder, all the response he got was drool out of Toki's mouth. Skwisgaar sneered, that was disgusting.

"Times to go to bed...nots the floor Tokis." Toki didn't move a muscle and Skwisgaar gave up, drawing an inverted pentagram on Toki's forehead and a penis leading toward his mouth. He stood up-knee's popping-leaving Toki to enjoy the floor. Skwisgaar was going to have a glorious shower and sleep in a clean bed.

Whoever said relationships were easy? Sometimes the passed out retard got the short end of the stick.


	6. Cock Fighting

It was exhausting having some sort of unnecessarily secret relationship Toki and Skwisgaar were finding out. One grown man and a man-child—it was debatable by whom you talked to which of the guitarists were which—should be able to own up and show the world they were together. Secrecy really was the crux of all their problems when it added fuel to every fight the two had.

Toki and Skwisgaar were two of the five richest people on the planet, they didn't have worries like regular jack-offs, yet they managed to fight more than the vast majority of regular jack-offs. Currently neither of the two Scandinavians were willing to take the blame for the gigantic ear-splitting, hair-pulling, bloody, drag-out fight the day before.

Needless to say the drums, lead and bass of Dethklok had been entertained. The screaming in unintelligible Norwegian and Swedish had lasted a quarter of an hour before the true match had even begun. Pickles, Murderface, and Nathan had had enough time to gather popcorn and booze and settle in, taking bets with exotic and immature dealings on who would win the fight. Murderface bet on Toki because he'd almost beaten a man to death. Pickles bet on Skwisgaar because he figured Toki would never actually _kill_ the member of the band he spent the most time with and cared about (Pickles noticed things sometimes, he did). Nathan bet on a tie because he thought Offdenson would break up the fight before it got truly fun and out of hand, that robot was _everywhere_.

Murderface had been dropping little tidbits into the fight whenever it began to lag, well at least he thought it began to lag when the shouting would die down, he had no clue what they were saying. 'Remember when Skwisgaar drew that penish on your fasche?' or 'Remember the sholos he never gave you?' were particularly good lines for his needling purpose. He wanted Toki in a blood rage.

Toki was currently agreeing with Murderface on the solos.

"_I told you before and I'll tell you again, the second you actually start to practice I will give you a fucking solo!" _Skwisgaar's arms were in the air, he was waving them around like a madman.

_"I don't believe you!" _Toki had planted his feet like an irate three-year old, his arms crossed over his chest, ready to do battle.

Skwisgaar mad_e _a noise of exasperation in his throat_. "You'd know if the possibility of you putting in work was more likely than hell freezing over! It's the same with everything: whine, whine, whine, and never do a thing about it. Grow the fuck up Toki!"_

_"Me? ME? I should grow up?" _Toki was so angry he couldn't think and was now just sputtering back whatever Skwisgaar said.

_"'Skwisgaar, come look under my bed, get off that slut, there's something under my bed.' Remember that little Toki?" _Skwisgaar parodied. Skwisgaar knew he was winning and he was maybe starting to get a little smug about it.

_"Don't call me that!" _Toki's arms uncrossed and clenched into fists at his sides.

_"What,_ little_ Toki? That's who you are, just a little fucking kid." _Skwisgaar was getting more cutting by the minute, so very, very good at being cold.

_"Oh, so that's why you are so ashamed of me then! 'Tokis don't touch me we are in public'. What the fuck is your problem Skwisgaar?" _Toki was almost crying now, broken with frustration and hurt.

"_The problem is I'M NOT FUCKING GAY LIKE YOU!" _The words burst out of Skwisgaar of their own free will.

Toki covered his ears and shouted, fed up and emotional,_ "I hate you! I hate you! I HATE you!" _Then he fell to his knees and was silent, his face buried in his arms, shoulders shaking.

Skwisgaar didn't know what to do. Had he won? He was still angry, it didn't just dissipate into nothingness because Toki freaked the fuck out. Still, Skwisgaar managed to unbend enough to kneel down, stiff yet with righteous anger, and put a hand on Toki's shoulder.

"Tokis?" Skwisgaar was expecting to be rejected, not a vicious punch to the mouth or the terrifying look of rage on Toki's blotchy face. Teary eyes held no mercy as Toki buried a hand in Skwisgaar hair tightly, immobilizing Skwisgaar for another punch to that arrogant face.

Skwisgaar wasn't about to be a sitting duck and grabbed a chunk of chestnut hair for his own, pulling backwards viciously, not realizing he was yelling out a bloody murdering war cry into Toki's face. They grappled for a few moments, bruises forming on arms and stomachs, breathing hard until they got back to essentially the same place, hands tangled in long hair.

"_Who's ashamed now_?" Skwisgaar screamed and planted his lips so hard on Toki's their teeth cracked together. Skwisgaar's split lip made the moment taste of acrid iron and anger; Skwisgaar was enjoying the pain of it, that small release. Toki tried to pull away, a mumbled mmph against Skwisgaar's lips, but the blond had a good grip on Toki's hair and he wasn't going anywhere. Finally Toki gave up and the tenseness left his entire body, shoulders falling. Toki took over then, pushing Skwisgaar down onto the floor. The kissing slowed into something less angry and more loving.

Toki lifted his mouth for a moment, "_The others?_"

Skwisgaar pulled him back down, mumbling, "_Who?"_

\m/

"So, who wins if, uh, _that_ happens?" Nathan's voice of gravel was quieter than usual, more like grains of sand rubbing together.

Each of the spectator's eyes were wide as if they'd been pointing the beam of a laser pointer in them again, none of the eyes were dilated however, except maybe Murderfaces (but who really did know what he found attractive?).

Pickles cleared his throat, "I guess dey do." It was possible half of the Wisconsinite's mouth quirked up in a smirk but the half-smile was gone in an instant.

"Brutal."

Without another word the three got up and left the room, seemingly disturbed and in shock. It only took another minute for a different sound to be heard out in the hallway, an ugly discordant sound, where before there had only been the hollow echo of boots on stone.

"GROSS! TITSH MOTHERFUCKING MCGEE! GUYSH, THEY'RE FUCKING _GAY!_ MY EYESH, MY VIRGSHIN EYESH! WHERESH THE BLEACSH? GET ME BLEACSH!"

Murderface's ranting continued a while in this vein until it cooled and Nathan's slurred voice could be heard, "I definitely won the bet, that's, uh, still a tie right? If they didn't kill each other?"

A heated debate over the rights to elephants and booze factories and slaving ships began.

When Pickle's mentioned doing shots and throwing swords off the top of Mordhaus the cycle of idiocy was complete and ready to begin again, Toki and Skwisgaar temporarily forgotten.


	7. An Apple a Day Keeps Skwisgaar Away

"_Toki, ugh, get off me! You taste like an apple orchard_." Skwisgaar's stomach rolled, he was hung-over as anything. "_Eugh,_" Skwisgaar groaned, managing to blend the sound into an ejaculation of disgust, _"and_ y_ou smell of one too_. S_top drinking cider first thing in the morning and get away from me_."

Toki had assaulted Skwisgaar, as he often did the moment the man showed the first signs of stirring—a lengthy process that often involved a lot of lanky moving limbs—mounting a sneak attack to full Swedish lips before Skwisgaar was even close to almost-nearly awake. The childhood habit of getting up by the bite of a leather belt before the first hints of dawn left Toki a little better at waking up than the rest of the band. Usually waking by Toki's enthusiastic kiss wasn't a bad way for Skwisgaar to greet the afternoon but today the Swede woke up with a dagger pierced through the front of his skull and the metal weapon was stuck there right fucking good.

"Oh noes Skwisgaar, yous hungover! I knows 'cause yous speaking da propers homeland Swedish and you tastes like the wrong ends of the horse." Here Toki paused for a second, getting to his knees on the bed, "But I'll takes cares of you, you sicky babies what can't hold his liquor." Toki's overpowering exuberance, was sometimes, well, _annoying as hell,_ this early in the hungover-noon. Thankfully Toki jumped off the bed somewhat more quietly, presumably to go get something to make Skwisgaar 'feels better'.

Skwisgaar rolled over in the soft bed, thoroughly miserable, wrapping himself in the furs like a Scandanavian sausage. He couldn't even enjoy Toki's naked muscled body—okay so maybe he could enjoy that firm ass—as Toki went to fumble into a pair of cloud-covered pajama bottoms and a blue t-shirt to cover the faded scars on his back. Skwisgaar could hear Toki rustling around in the closet and opening and closing drawers but could no longer see the man so he closed his light sensitive eyes.

Skwisgaar managed to mumble something out, in English this time, unsure if Toki had already left the room when the noise stopped, "No pickled herrings Tokis! Just gets me something for the pains or maybes an axe to ends it all."

"You gets what you gets Skwisgaar. What you reallys needs is da morning afters pills." Skwisgaar groaned—Toki's voice did not do anything for the pain behind his eyeballs—but then what Toki said registered in his fuzzy brain (it was so cottony in there he could open a sweat shop and make fabric, so it took a while).

Skwisgaar's voice was vehement with offense, even if it was mostly lost in the fur blanket: "I am nots a ladies Toki what needs a _mornings after pills!" _

"Whatsever, Skwisgaar yous knows what I mean." Not really. But Skwisgaar make a sound of derision in his throat anyway and then proceeded to ignore Toki and try to fall asleep, venturing to fade the ache in his head squirming to worm its way out of his skull.

\m/

A cat. It was a fucking cat. A fucking cat was currently walking across Skwisgaar's face. It had woken him up from his 'thank-you-metal-gods-relief!' sleep.

Skwisgaar opened his eyes and promptly closed them again. Skwisgaar knew this cat, the weight of its evil little body and its tarnished orange fur, and so he stayed absolutely, completely and totally still, not even daring to open his eyes again, thankful the cat hadn't seen him open them the first time. Skwisgaar was barely breathing. He knew this spawn of Satan. If he moved one solitary muscle—if he dared to sneeze—he'd be seeing more than a little blood and have deep septic holes in his face for an entire week.

This one-eyed hissing quadruped had claws it insisted on sharpening on everything (including Skwisgaar's guitars). This was a cat you didn't challenge by looking it in its one good eye, not even Murderface was stupid enough to do that on pain of pride.

Skwisgaar acknowledged defeat to this prowler of the night. The cat was plain mean as hell to anyone but Toki, no matter how innocent it seemed or how much it teased before it vampired its teeth in you. This cat taunted the feral yard wolves then beat them handily if they tried anything.

Impatient but deceptively soft paws batted at Skwisgaar's high patrician cheekbones, the very ones that made supermodels weep. Skwisgaar could almost see the expression of boredom on that cat face, even with his eyes closed, a look Skwisgaar was very much familiar with as he wore it often himself.

Skwisgaar felt sharp claws rake at his bright hair beginning a painful, painful, game called 'claw at this shiny cloud and screw anything that gets in the way'. It was a terrible fun for the cat, not so much fun for Skwisgaar whose wavy blond strands the bully liked best.

The paw currently resting on Skwisgaar's forehead lifted up and found its way to where it was least welcome, Skwisgaar's full lips. Then it pushed past them. Skwisgaar couldn't do it—not even for Toki—that was the last straw! Skwisgaar did not want to know what this vermin had been doing or where it had been before it began traipsing all over his face and sticking furry paws in his mouth, daring to do it when Skwisgaar was hung-over and basically dying. Skwisgaar would take claw marks and puncture wounds rather than anus to mouth any day.

Skwisgaar opened his eyes—squinting in the light, why did he have such a white room?— to see the cat with a paw still resting lazily on his sculpted lips, one yellow eye looking straight into Skwisgaar's two blue, generally giving zero fucks.

Skwisgaar reached up with one arm, red with thin little healing lines of previous battles, and grabbed the cat by the scruff of its neck. The cat was aware of what was going to happen, and claws dug painfully into Skwisgaar's chest and neck, one caught on Skwisgaar's full bottom lip, digging deep. _Jävel!_

The weight went flying off Skwisgaar's chest with an irate, "MRRROW!"

\m/

Toki was walking back to the bedroom, sandwich half in and half out of his mouth. In his other hand he was carrying a vanilla cupcake piled high with black icing, decorated with the Dethklok logo; he was going to force Skwisgaar to eat it so that he (with his stupid dildos diabetes) could taste the forbidden sugar on Skwisgaar's tongue. Thoughts of that and other misadventures the two could get caught up in—_maybes they could builds a planes_ today—were pleasantly running through Toki's mind.

Then he heard an angry bellow. "TOKIS!" The shout rang out from down the hall, it was livid and all too familiar.

Toki had gotten distracted on his hangover curing mission earlier and forgot what he was supposed to be doing when he saw Murderface stomping down the hallway. Naturally he'd had to find out why, turns out it had something to do with Knubbler but Toki had stopped paying attention halfway through the telling of it. Eventually Toki had left Murderface to stew in his own strange juices, got a sandwich, and started to make his way back to where he always seemed to end up: Skwisgaar.

Toki paused for half a moment with the ham, cheese, bread and various condiments in his molars still half chewed, brain catching up to just what that shout meant. _Dritt!_ Skwisgaar didn't have occasion to yell at Toki much anymore except for one reason, one small, furry, little, ten-pound reason. Toki broke into a desperate sprint, sandwich falling to the floor but delicious cupcake safe and clenched securely in his hand, blue t-shirt whipping about till it clung to the muscles of his upper torso, bearing the deep cut lines of his abdomen. His boots thumped heavily on the stone floor, echoing like the feet of ten men in the stone hallway as he raced to the stark white bedroom.

It was Dave Mustaine again; it was always Dave Mustaine these days.

\m/

"Did you hear that?" Nathan had been lounging in the hot tub with Pickles and Murderface, generally on his way to getting rip-roaring drunk.

The walls of Mordhaus sometimes carried sounds eerily and Nathan could've sworn he heard the cry of an injured animal or something.

"I'm not shure what that wash, maybe Charlesh had to put shome poor bashtard down." Murderface looked downright gleeful at the thought and the knife he was using to carve into the cement surrounding the hot pool of water stilled.

"Ahh you guys er both wrong, if I'm naht mistaken dat was the mating call of ah wild mongoose." Pickle's was to be the sensible one in the group this evening...

"Pickles uh, why do you even know that?" Nathan took Pickle's claim as is, not unreasonable after the twenty-fourth beer of the day.

"Don't ahsk Nathan, dahn't tell." The man was noodled out, both arms caressing the side of the hot tub, basically relaxed into a stupor (which could've meant any combination of drugs were sluggishly making their way out of his pores and to his screaming liver).

"This isn't the fuckin' army." Nathan was beyond curious now.

"Ah but you still don't whanna know though. It'll fester in yur brain forever if ya do." Pickle's the sage the drummer was to be this evening.

"Good song title, 'festering in your brain forever'." Nathan's curiosity abated with a distraction thought and the conversation ended for the moment.

\m/

"I think Dave Mustaine can smell my fear Tokis." Skwisgaar's eyes were wide, recounting the story of his traumatizing cat attack later to an amused Norwegian.

Toki pursed his lips, as if thinking the matter over, "Ja, well he is Vikings cat. I expect nothings less from guard cat of Odin."

"It doesn't have to guard me from you Tokis! I'm goings to kills dat things if its be clawrings me anymores." Skwisgaar was outraged, it didn't help his mood that his stomach still felt as if he'd been seesawing nastily on a long-ship for hours and his bottom lip was swollen like he'd gotten some bottom of the barrel, 'they took your kidney while you were out', black market botox.

Toki shook his head at Skwisgaar.

"Oh noes, he wasn't doings that. He likes you, that's ams what makes him claws at yous guitar and yous ugly pales body." Skwisgaar cocked an eyebrow, very skeptical of that indeed (his body was a beautiful work of art and that cat hated him), but Toki continued—eyes shiny—lost to his imagination: "He probably saws some trolls under da bed and was tryings to wakes you up to warns you!" As the sentence went on Toki got more and more excited, words rolling together, nearly out of breath from his 'discovery': "We's got the best cats ever Skwisgaar! Dave Mustaine warns us of da trolls!"

"Pfft. Trolls. Betters he warns us of the Dutch. And ugh, Tokis don't calls dat cat that, you dos knows just 'cause he's a gingers cat wit' no souls nots means it's not terriscbles you names him after another metal gingers."

"Don'ts care. Cat brutal enough to be in Megadeth. I's more concerned wit' yous faces, looks pretty metal with what the bloods and pus." The wounds on Skwisgaar's chest and neck were slowly seeping, he should probably clean them but he still felt like a giant bag of shit and didn't want to move.

"Don'ts feels metals Toki." If Skwisgaar could pout, this is the closest he'd ever been to it.

"Well whats if I kisses battle wounds betters?" Toki leaned in closer. They had both migrated back to the bed, the only real sitting surface in the room. Toki had been laying on his stomach, perched above Skwisgaar who was laying propped up on pillows like a victim in traction.

"Uh, maybes dat helps, but only if yous do it wells. Ams only goings to accept verys thoroughs job. Betters even if you apolosecs for getting dat dildos cat in the first place." Skwisgaar wasn't quite ready to reciprocate the advance, still miffed.

"Hows about just sexes? Or is dat tiny hungsover brain still not ups for it?" Toki taunted, then looked pointedly down at Skwisgaar's nether regions, "Or is the ot'er head nots up for it?"

Skwisgaar just tackled Toki down onto the pale sheets in response. The meeting of hands and mouths and areas below the waist meant Skwisgaar (and Toki) were very much up for it.

AN: Please don't kill me for mentioning Dave Mustaine in this mess of homosketuals fanfictions! I would've used someone a little less well known for the name but it was just so perfect 'cause they're both gingers! Plus it made me laugh. And namings a cat after a band like dying fetus/goatwhore/belphegor/behemoth/nile/children of bodom/finntroll/amon amarth etc. or any underground band doesn't really work. Coulda called him Vader but everyone always thinks you're talking about Darth Vader.

I am kind-of obsessed with Toki being able to have a cat (and for it to live) if it's a joint cat with Skwisgaar. The God of Life could keep that little fucker alive, right?

Thank you if you've managed to read this far. I really do appreciate it, I just wish I were a better writer for you all! Now go punch a wall to get your metal card back, it was revoked the second you read any of my mushy crap. Cheers.


	8. Public Smut

AN: *clears throat* Just a warning, this is pure smutty escapism. Took this down for edits to remove some (but not all) liberties taken with reality. I don't like this edit as much as the original, I don't think it's as hot, but sometimes c'est la vie unfortunately.

Also thanks to YourRhineStoneEyes and SummerSkies2007 for commenting. Your thoughts were awesome and appreciated as ever.

All my drabbles remain un-beta-ed. (As if you didn't know).

\m/

The club was packed and depravity abounded; _nasty sex_ might as well have been the name of the place. Dethklok had found their way to a fairly scuzzy hole in the wall in the nearest community to Mordhaus.

Toki was drunk off his ass, Skwisgaar nearly more so. Currently the two men were rolling hips like they had been stuck at sea for months—on separate ships—and now that they were back together on land they were desperate to make up for lost time.

And they didn't care who was watching.

The two males had collapsed on the booth seat within their little alcove after standing proved too difficult. The edge of a table covered with ebony cloth blocked a lot of their bump, grind, and roll from the rest of the club. It was still pretty obvious what the two men were doing however—even if their moaning was lost in some thumping bass beat neither of the men enjoyed—because two sets of black-as-night leather boots were sticking off the end of the bench. And those boots sure as hell weren't staying still.

Mouths had fused and shirts were pushed up or off, Skwisgaar's landing somewhere behind Toki's brawny shoulders, shoulders Skwisgaar had pinned to the seat with excess drunken force.

Around the table had gathered numerous female and a few male Dethklok fans, all trying to stay in the shadows but watching with hungry eyes. The news of Dethklok appearing at a sleazy club had spread like wildfire; this bit of info on the two guitarists and the entertainment they were providing was more than the fans had expected however. Soon enough there would be Dethklok devotees bold enough to watch the pair openly, but for the moment they hung back and drooled, lust pumping through their veins in time with the heavy bass beat.

"Skwisgaar!" The word held the tang of high-end Scotch whiskey as the blond man's hand disappeared beneath thick and dark cotton pants. Toki's eyes popped open to get a nice view of the ceiling and the handsome flushed face and plump lips of the man above him right before Skwisgaar bent down to bite and lick the tiny round disks of Toki's nipples, white teeth flashing. Ahhh. The minute pain was enough to wake Toki up from the pleasure haze caused by a hand on his cock.

"Wheres in da hells are we...?" Skwisgaar cut Toki off with talented lips and Toki was moaning, Skwisgaar doing that thing with his ton...mmm.

Skwisgaar replied in harsh Swedish, and damn if that didn't make Toki's cock pulse. "_Don't fucking care. Lift your hips_."

Toki did what was ordered, a bottle or two of expensive whiskey from any inhibitions or any ability to fight to get on top. Toki's pants were wrenched down just enough for Skwisgaar to palm Toki's erection properly. At the friction, Toki's hips rolled. Mouths and limbs were sloppy and uncoordinated drunk but Skwisgaar's hands remained talented and rock steady as ever, muscle memory doing wonders as he pumped and released with every thrust.

Panting from the audience all around them was lost to the music but Toki's heavy breathing rose above it.

"_Fuck. Skwisgaar. Make it hurt._" Alcohol had numbed a lot of Toki's nerves but Skwisgaar was not small and Toki knew the man was going to cause stabbing pain without fresh lube. Toki had been prepped earlier in the day (for a very satisfying morning session that just thinking about had more blood pooling in Toki's groin) but it was wishful thinking how much of that loosening or smooth glide remained.

Toki didn't give a flying fuck, his thoughts were hazy and far away, lost in a puddle of alcohol. He had more pressing concerns. Like getting Skwisgaar naked.

Toki's hot hands undid the button and zipper of Skwisgaar's dark jeans, stilling any of Skwisgaar's protests, and burning palms moved down to grip the pale hips and ass as Toki pushed the fabric down slooowly. Skwisgaar freed his erection and Toki kept gripping that ass tight in his palms.

Skwisgaar was insolently and deliberately stroking himself, eyes raking down Toki's impressive body. Toki was lost in pure sensory pleasure at that sizzling gaze.

"_Do it. I need the hurt._" Toki repeated, breathing hard, and if that didn't make Skwisgaar's balls ache, nothing could.

A thought came to Skwisgaar like a relay baton and he ran with it. Putting hands and mouth on all that hard body was no trouble at all...

Skwisgaar leaned close and gave a final lick to Toki's bruised lips before meandering down to Toki's erection, hands causing bliss wherever they went. Toki braced himself, palms on lean shoulders, and clamped his mouth shut. Skwisgaar swallowed Toki slowly and cleanly like the pro he was, and Toki tried but couldn't restrain a shout. Thank fuck Skwisgaar liked to do things well and here he _excelled._

Toki saw pretty white stars. Skwisgaar knew just the right amount of suction and it was everything, the fingers burrowing into his thighs and the tongue that knew the Nord too well—Toki was going mad. The wavy blond hair that bobbed and swayed was just fucking perfect clenched in Toki's fists as a mouth made drugging pulls on his cock.

The pleasure broke when a flicking tongue caressed just right, it hit its peak and pressure pushed its way from Toki's balls to the tip of his cock in a searing ecstatic rush. Skwisgaar pulled off and capped the head of Toki's jerking erection with his palm while Toki went deaf and blind.

Then Skwisgaar was all business, the intensity on his face as he used Toki's essence to coat his cock and two fingers to pry open Toki's entrance was exquisite. Toki's ears were still ringing from his release but he couldn't help looking. The rest of the world past what Skwisgaar was doing was spinning.

Toki needed an anchor and he was going to get one.

Skwisgaar was met with resistance as he guided his cock and pressed against that tight entrance. The joy-pain of Toki's moan made him continue, rubbing and teasing a little. Then Toki reached up one hand to tweak Skwisgaar's nipple and there was no stopping. The pressure felt like it was going to bend Skwisgaar's cock in half before he managed to push inside and he hissed. But then, Gods, the heat of it as the head of his cock was engulfed, the picture he made as he pushed his way inside...

Toki was nearly too tight, much tighter than when properly prepped. The sensation without enough lube was slightly less pleasant when every movement dragged on the skin of his cock, but he got over it quickly with the sounds Toki was making and that fiery heat...and the leaking pre come from his cock. And _fucking hell, _Toki clenched down on him tighter. Every sensation turned into delicious friction.

The thumping beat pushed at them, making them feral. Skwisgaar glanced up to see the spectators. The eyes on them gave Skwisgaar a tingle in his spine. Let them watch.

_He's mine. _

Skwisgaar increased the pressure against Toki's tight entrance, meeting eyes around the room. But the pleasure below his hips brought him back to Toki because _fuck_. The man was the best vise. Still Skwisgaar could feel the knowing eyes, and forbidden pleasure pumped blood exactly where it was needed.

Toki was lost, wasn't even making anything close to words as Skwisgaar slid deep, aaaall the way. Yes. Toki was palming his cock, pulling and stroking till he had the beginnings of an erection, recovery time almost non-existent. As Skwisgaar's hips began their rhythm, the pain made Toki yelp, yet he still pulled Skwisgaar closer with his free hand because there was pleasure somewhere in the invasion too.

Toki moved his other palm down to grip Skwisgaar's ass and kneaded that muscled skin as it bunched and released. Toki wanted to be filled as deep as possible, gluttonous for punishment and pleasure this night. He pulled the man tighter with every thrust, wanting _harder,_ to be lost, still cushioned by a layer of intoxication.

Skwisgaar lay down on Toki's chest, upper torso still, just his hips undulating. And damn if Skwisgaar's lean stomach didn't feel like heaven on Toki's erection. The man's voice started whispering dirty nothings in Toki's ear with hot tequila breath and Toki's cock jerked, once, twice. Skwisgaar nipped and sucked on Toki's neck, his ears, and all Toki knew was pleasure and agony and sizzling exhalations on his skin.

"_Toki, fuck! I'm gonna lose it. You need to cum."_ Skwisgaar's words pierced into Toki's consciousness, and the man got busy pumping Toki's cock, smoothing pre come along the wide head. The sight of straining abs below that flushed organ had Skwisgaar's cock desperate.

Toki was so close with a long fingered hand holding him just right, his cock became a throbbing wound.

Skwisgaar finally hit that perfect spot inside Toki and Toki did a single sharp jerk, mewling.

The sting of what they were doing as well as that hit to his prostate formed a pinnacle of ecstasy. Toki was coming fast and first, trying not to scream. Skwisgaar's mouth caught Toki's cries as his hand caught part of the male's release.

When sharp teeth clinched on Skwisgaar's shoulder it was over for the Swede. One more solid slapping thrust and Skwisgaar's body was shaking, warmth filling Toki below.

Fuuuuuck.

Toki released Skwisgaar's shoulder to find pillowy lips and swallow a vibrating moan. Toki clamped down tight on Skwisgaar's heavy cock, holding him inside.

The two males had folded on each other, exhausted, and when Skwisgaar pulled out Toki nearly died, endorphins and adrenaline gone. The bulky retreating length was a harsh scraping pain.

Toki invented a new language of Norwegian and English combined. Fucking. Ouch.

Skwisgaar looked down and the sight was enough to sober him up. That was definitely Toki's blood wrapping around his cock like a brand. Shit. Skwisgaar glanced up to see Toki giving him a wry smile and gave a wan smile back.

The audience around the pair picked their jaws up off the floor and moved away. The scent of cheap perfume, sweat, and lust cloaked the hovel. The fans were all ready to give any man, even a woman, _anyone_ the time of their life. It would've been a good time for Murderface to be around but he was outside puking. Ah, missed opportunities...

AN: Forgive my overabundance of author's notes, the word fuck, and my raping of ellipsis marks. Cheers.

...anyone else wish fellatiating was a real word?


	9. Edelweiss and Alcohol

The world lived at their feet. The masses screamed their names. They were gods.

Not so much when they were all vomiting. But whatever.

Pickles had invested in a large bottle of top-tier champagne, the "Ace of Spades" at 45 kilograms and a cool 200k. Seemed a Pickles drink, champagne, but he recruited the rest of the band and they were only too happy to help him consume the behemoth. It was large enough that it was almost as tall as the redhead, and was from the waist up on Skwisgaar and Nathan. The bottle was dipped metallic and as soon as Pickles saw that with his own eyes, if he could possibly fall farther in love with a giant bottle of booze, he had.

Now Dethklok were having the most expensive puke they'd ever had in their lives.

But let's rewind shall we?

The night began innocuously enough. They'd all been in the hot tub chillin' like nobody's business. Toki was wheedling Skwisgaar who was valiantly pretending he was only interested in his guitar, but trying not to smile, warmth in his stomach. Pickles was as drugged as ever and Murderface was talking on the phone to...someone. Nathan was silent and stoic as usual, mostly because he was just on that side of too drunk to function. Eh, fairly boring.

But then a Klokateer showed up wheeling a dolly holding a crate with the word FRAGILE printed on the side in bold red letters. The Klokateer was a beefy man and his voice was equally deep when he announced from behind his black hood, "Master Pickles, the package you ordered."

Pickles lifted a heavy head from the edge of the tub, dreads dripping. "Da fack? I dahn't 'member ordering nuttin' chief. But pahp t'at facker." The lifetime of a memory for any member of the band was about three minutes before it was obliterated. They paid their CFO to remember shit for them.

The Gear did as ordered. Somehow the crate was opened without incident, boards and nails coming loose with warning creaks and groans. When the bottle was lowered to the floor (with significant effort), there was the pry bar reclining there like an insolent slug. The accident didn't happen in slow motion like all those work-place safety commercials, the screen didn't black out letting you fill in the "oh shit" yourself, nope; the piece of heavy metal (ignoring the rules of force, work, and other physics) went flying up when its corner was caught by the massive bottle and slid right through the neck of the Klokateer like his skin had a homing device.

But the bottle was okay.

No member of Dethklok even blinked. Really there was no blood to be seen, the stainless steel went right through the Klokateer's windpipe and lodged there; it wasn't as if any member of the band knew how to do a tracheotomy so there was no point getting out of the tub. The guy just jerked a few times, writhed a bit on the floor and then went still behind his black hood. No air? No problem.

"Wowee!" In one excited word Toki summed up the scene and the perfect callousness of the band.

"Ahh doods." Pickles voice held a whine, his eyeballs rolled to the bottle so very very far away, but no other part of him moved. It was an insurmountable distance for a limp body.

"It's so fahr awaaaaaaay!"

During Pickles complaining, Dave Mustaine (Toki's one-eyed cat and probable minion of Satan) padded into the room on silent paws, went up to the head of the Hood and batted at it a few times. It might have been a trick of the light or something more sinister but the one slit of an eye seemed to flash in that triangle face. Perhaps the ginger _Felis_ took the souls of the dead, perhaps not, the cat however did belong to the God of Death and was comfortable with the ending of life. The menace jumped up on the still warm body of the Hood and promptly fell asleep, curled on the quiet chest, purring.

"Toki." To the youngest member of the band Pickles turned his attention, knowing only Toki or Nathan were strong enough to move the bottle and Nathan, well, was more lazy than Toki and less easily persuaded.

"Kid ya should just go over t'ere, roll me that bottle an we can ahll have ah drink."

"Aww Pickle I just gots comfortable." Toki had threaded an arm around Skwisgaar's waist and the man had slowly let Toki move closer, lip curled the whole time. The restless energy Toki had had, had been expended when he saw the Gear killed, just enough mayhem to satisfy Toki for the moment. Sometimes violence riled Toki up and sometimes it held just enough interest for him to calm down, boredom forgotten. Plus the tinny sound of Skwisgaar's fingers on the unplugged guitar frets were starting to lull Toki to sleep; Toki heard the soft clinking often when Skwisgaar stayed up late. Toki's head had been slowly drooping, ready to rest on the blonde's shoulder.

"Nat'n yous dos it. Yous stronger." Toki tried passing the activity off, fairly unsuccessfully. Skwisgaar hoped Nathan would take up the offer but simply gave Nathan an impartial glance rather than a loaded one. Skwisgaar liked Toki right where he was but wasn't willing to say or do anything to give that impression.

"That's uh. No. No I'm not gonna do it. Too much effort." The ends of Nathan's hair flipped and flicked in the bubbling water.

Murderface provided the solution, pulling his face away from the phone into which he'd been gabbing. "Ah you guysh couldn't funcshion without me. I'll jusht text Charlesh," Murderface grunted, smug. "And boom problemsh sholved."

There was a wait in which Pickles and the bottle had a few intimate moments together, Pickles making love to it with his eyes and the bottle reciprocating with the sheen off its shiny surface, beads of condensation rolling down its curves.

Four Klokateers entered the room, two to move the body—who were hissed at by the cat and sustained a few injuries—and another two to heft the bottle. A sigh of satisfaction left Pickles, finally to be united with the object of his affection.

The bottle was popped without embellishment by a Hood, made metal by the cork hitting the man straight in the eye. The injured Klokateer just set the bottle down, bowed respectfully and left, the cork still lodged in his eye socket, blood seeping around it. None of the band were paying attention to the Klokateer and even Mustaine just yawned. The foam geyser-ing out of the bottle to a great height, now that was an interesting sight, the carbon dioxide escaping in a mass of bubbles enthralling. Pickles nearly came from the image of that alone, Toki's eyes had popped wide and even Nathan was impressed.

Another Klokateer came to replace the injured and the two Gear's, the old and the new, hoisted the bottle onto their shoulders, pouring the champagne into flutes.

Toki whispered something into Skwisgaar's neck about the raptured expression on Pickle's face and the tall man let out a snort.

_A few fancy-shmancy drinks later..._

The band traveled the length of Mordhaus drunk on champagne like debutantes, chaos in their wake. It was classic black-and-white silent comedy. Dethklok running in and out of rooms with the two Klokateer's running after them holding the giant bottle of booze.

So many bubbles. So very many bubbles.

Toki particularly liked the sensation, different than the heaviness beer left on his tongue. He may have drank a bit too much...since he ended up giggling and hugging Skwigaar and unable to stop. The other man was like a pissed off cat that had its fur rubbed the wrong way—hard. Skwisgaar was not impressed. Drunken groping aside, the blond knew Toki would be passed out soon and nothing would come of the contact. Skwisgaar liked his evening sex, needed it to be honest. So that might be why he consented to do something extremely stupid. That and intoxication.

"I's gonna strip Skwisgaar!" The Norwegian was completely blitzed, endearing though he was. No protest was made by the other man, save pulling Toki out of the room, taking a stumbling hand and leading the bumbling puppy to a snow-coloured bedroom.

"Skwisgaar I needs you to finds me somes strippings music. And a poles!"

So that was why, nearing a half hour later, Skwisgaar was lost somewhere in Mordhaus, holding a banana hammock and a tape of Cher's greatest hits (because who the hell had Cher on anything other than tape?). It really was unfortunate he hadn't been able to find any Men at Work or a copy of "Welcome to the Jungle" but you got what you got at three in the morning.

What Skwisgaar _really_ shouldn't have done was follow the vaguely hermaphroditic scantily clad women wearing black leather spike heels. He'd _thought _they'd be heading back to the main room where presumably the rest of Dethklok lounged but no. They led him to the stuff of nightmares. It really was unfortunate Skwisgaar lost all his sense of direction when under the influence or he'd have turned right the hell around.

He'd never be able to look at Charles the same way again. Seriously when the man let loose, he really let loose. Who knew, who wanted to know, Charles liked showtunes and bondage and reptiles...together?

\m/

It was with shaking palms that Skwisgaar made his way through the halls of Mordhaus after backing out of the disturbing room, beyond traumatized, banana hammock still clenched in his hand, wondering at intervals if he were to just get drunk enough if those images could be lost forever.

_Charles...St. Andrew's Cross..._

_The Sound of Music..._

_Cockroaches...rocking horses..._

When he finally found Toki, the man was splayed out on the fur covered bed, one arm half in half out of his blue t-shirt. Skwisgaar just dove onto the bed, letting the Cher tape and questionable underthings settle out on the floor, grabbing Toki around the waist and holding on tight. Thank fuck he got Toki's brand of weirdness. Skwisgaar shuddered and clung around Toki tighter, molding himself around the man.

\m/

The next afternoon every member of the band had the special blend of sickness that accompanies champagne hangovers. It was unfortunate they had a meeting that day at all and borderline a miracle that they all somehow managed to drag themselves out of bed to attend it—three hours late of course. Each member of Dethklok around the table had been set up with brushed tin pails right next to their seats and Dunkin Hills coffee steaming in front of their faces.

Only Charles seemed chipper when he entered the room. Eerily so. Everyone wondered why Skwisgaar let out a yelp, missing the wink the beautiful blond had gotten from behind metal rimmed glasses.

Skwisgaar started the round of vomiting expensive champagne leftovers into conveniently placed receptacles.

AN: Credit to SummerSkies2007 for the fitting idea that Toki's ginger cat eats the souls of Klokateers. Thanks!

Also no disrespect to Cher or _The Sound of Music_. Like I mean fucking Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer and Nazis? Can't go wrong.

Charles...yeah who knows. I just like making him do the unexpected because he's so uptight and controlled. I am however not opposed to him being a normal person and do pair him with a few members of the band on and off.

Cheers.


	10. Torturing Richard Vernon

Skwisgaar was so busy on a particular sequence of notes, trying out different combinations—making the measures the most technical and achingly fast as possible—that he realized he hadn't even glanced up for...well it could've been hours he couldn't tell. When Skwisgaar did lift his head his eyes popped wide, so much whites showing his eyes might as well have replaced the light side of the moon. Toki was laying on the couch, one leg propped on the other, finger's drum drum drumming on his calf.

Every item on the list was present and accounted for. Toki was sitting almost still. Check. Toki was doing something annoying with his hands. Check. Toki was silent. Check. The results: Toki was bored.

It was not advisable to let the resident little brother of Mordhaus get bored. Toki'd pop up behind you, spook you, maybe try to playfully choke you. He'd use you as a trampoline to wake you up or dip your hand in hot water on the off chance you'd wet your gitch. If you were passed out he'd shave off one of your eyebrows. He'd start dancing. He'd start singing. Those were just the warmups, you wanted to stop Toki before he brought the true mayhem.

Toki did not deal well with bored, he didn't even like the sound of the word if he rolled it around on his tongue (which he'd sometimes do when he was just approaching bored territory but had not quite hit the "Welcome to" sign). Before Toki made Skwisgaar exclusively his—which meant Skwisgaar now had to put up with Toki no matter what—Toki had often got locked out of rooms. Very often.

Skwisgaar started, fingers sliding off strings with a clink, losing all feeling in the tips; Toki had something dark and vaguely rectangular in his hand. No. No. It wasn't. Toki didn't have a...he couldn't. Of course he did. Toki had a Taser. How did Toki get a fucking Taser? Gods how did Skwisgaar miss all the preliminary warnings? Did Toki just skip them and already pass Go?

Skwisgaar didn't make any sudden moves. He told himself to imagine he had arthritis, to be old and slow, as he snailed one hand closer and closer to the phone in his front pocket. Now was not a good time to be cursing the fact he'd gotten the spikes ground off the damn thing so he could fit it in his pocket.

Toki's one hand kept the percussion up on his calf, the other held that Taser, inspecting every inch of it. His tongue was stuck out one side of his mouth, making him look deceptively innocent.

Skwisgaar's face was getting hot as his fingertips finally touched hard metal through tight pants. Why did pants have to bunch and mold to a body when sitting down? _Why?_ He wriggled the phone loose, flinching when Toki started to whistle. A drop of sweat slithered from his crown, down a cheek. The phone came loose. Skwisgaar's long thumb pressed the rounded bowl depression of a button. Toki's whistle song continued, reaching new heights. Of course Toki picked "The Colonel Bogey March" what a nice background soundtrack for his panic.

Skwisgaar dared to glance down.

He had to be fast, fucking quick.

His palm was nearly shaking, adrenaline godsdammit, and it took him two tries to get to the messaging. Charles. Charles. So much scrolling. What had he put him under? He was already in N. Robottttt. Fuck he'd put that in there when he was drunk if all the 't's were any...

"Whats you doing?" Skwisgaar screeched and leapt upwards off the couch, Explorer falling to the floor with a twangy crunch. He took a step back from Toki who'd just materialized in front of him. Smooooooth Skwisgaar. Real smooth. He cleared his throat. "Nothings Tokis needs ams conskerns withs." Well didn't that just make sense.

Toki's smile started out small and innocent. But then it grew. And grew—who the fuck gave this smile crack?—until one side quirked up with evil intent. Oh, Toki, no.

One arm—why was everything in slow motion but so blurred at the same time?—lifted upwards and...

The screaming that came next made even Mustaine quit licking his paws for a moment.

* * *

AN: Ten points to anyone who gets the references. And I'm not talking about the Monopoly reference.

You must stroke the mustache Alex Trebek had in the eighties to redeem your points. Stroking of Burt Reynold's mustache is also acceptable. Good luck.


	11. Premonitions

AN: Two shots at the same scene...hmm now if only they were shots of alcoholic origin...

Skwisgaar woke up in a cold sweat and frantically patted himself down and the cold sheets beside him. He rubbed at the fingers of his left hand and found them just the same length as they were yesterday, the same callouses, nothing new. Good. Often he dreamed he lost the digits, but that wasn't the problem tonight. A sigh of relief crept past tense lips. He was just where he'd left himself, all the pieces safe, sound, and ordinary.

It had all been a dream, er, nightmare:

Skwisgaar had worn some fancy getup, a 'strangle me' starched white dress shirt with pressed slacks. Toki had faced him wearing a shadow-coloured tuxedo. Skwisgaar had been leaning in while classic Mendelssohn played—because he was just that eager—while some dildo pronounced those trite words. "You are now man and..."

His dream self wore a platinum band so tight around the fourth finger of his left hand it'd been cutting off the circulation.

Sometimes Skwisgaar wondered what sort of drugs he'd taken that messed up his psyche this much...then he remembered all the drugs he had taken. Hmph. Probably the crystals meth or coke. He slung his legs out of bed, rubbing his face like it would erase the conversation in his synapses. Not so. The dream misted until it covered everything in a fine layer of fog.

Gods, Skwisgaar didn't even _like_ the little dildo let alone would he ever _marry_ him. Skwisgaar wouldn't ever even fucking touch lips with the man. Toki was like a little kid; who knew what came near that mouth!

Skwisgaar got up to take one long hot—_vad, skit_—make that cold, shower. He had to lay off on the...something. He had to have eaten _something_ that caused this mental refuse to pop up in his dreams and pop up lower body parts, it was the only explanation he could accept. Maybe it was just all drug rot of the brain or lack of sex last night. Skwisgaar was still all sluggish and stupid from sleep and he could feel a headache coming on, he didn't want to deal with this.

It wasn't as if he'd ever be in a monogamous relationship anyway. The thought made him snort into his palm. There was no chance of that. Nix. Inte en chans.

Famous last words. Or thoughts as it were.

\m/

Skwisgaar woke up in a cold sweat and frantically patted himself and the cold empty bed beside him. He rubbed at the fingers of his left hand and found them just as long as they were yesterday with the same callouses and nothing else. The pain in his chest flared outwards. It was the worst, the waking up. The moments before Skwisgaar realized. A sigh escaped down-turned lips and Skwisgaar's heart stopped trying to flutter right out of his chest in its stupid hope, stopped expecting a warm palm to reach out to him, sleepy eyes to look up at him and a warm voice to ask him what was wrong.

Sleep had found Skwisgaar in a nightmare simulacrum of what his old reality had been:

Skwisgaar had been wearing his regular dildos clothes. And Toki faced him cross-legged wearing brown pants and nothing else, relaxing. Skwisgaar had been leaning in—because he was just that eager—while Toki was telling him a story about his day. Toki's face was so animated Skwisgaar couldn't hold himself back from those curved lips.

His dream self had a band tight around the fourth finger of his left hand, old enough it'd carved a pale strip into his skin. In waking life the band nestled next to Toki's, returned to the earth.

Sometimes Skwisgaar wondered what sort of drugs he could take to bring the memories back, so that he could live in them. Sometimes he questioned if it were better if he could just forget every moment altogether, then he'd stop and find that was a betrayal of Toki.

Skwisgaar pondered all the drugs he had taken, wanting to reach for the morphine this morning and fade into oblivion. Instead he slung his legs out of bed, rubbing his face like it would erase the conversation in his synapses or the memories held there. Not so. The grief misted until it covered everything in a heavy layer of dimming fog.

Gods what he would do to fucking touch lips with the man one more time. To simply see Toki's face in anything other than two-dimensional leftovers.

Skwisgaar got up to take one long, freezing shower hoping to shock himself out of rumination, forget everything in physical torment. Skwisgaar was still sluggish and stupid from sleep and he could feel a headache coming on; he didn't want to deal with this. He didn't want to have to do this loss every fucking day. Nix. Inte en chans. Tears slipped silent from their ducts without notice.

Skwisgaar would do anything to bring Toki back. Anything.

Famous mourning words. Or thoughts as it were.

AN: First part inspiration credit to the Magic Rat and her version of Skwistok, specifically a piece where she had Toki dream he married Skwisgaar (which is not what I just described at all, her everything is much more awesome). Go check her shit out if you haven't already. Her universe got stuck in my head for months and is clearly still floating around talking to my version of the Metalocalypse universe without my knowledge.

Second part I couldn't help because I'm a depressing asshole.


	12. New Janus Words

"Jeg elsker deg!" It was yelled across the cavernous room by Murderface to both Pickles and Nathan. The words were echoed back trench-deep and then accented.

Toki giggled beneath his palm. Toki and Skwisgaar had finally convinced the others that the Norwegian words meant 'I hate you' and now all the non-Scandinavian members of the band were saying the phrase to each other with alarming frequency.

Toki and Skwisgaar were standing somewhat apart, admiring what they had wrought.

"Whats totals jackoffs." Skwisgaar laughed into and bussed a firm shoulder. Hair weaved together into a two-tone sheet as Skwisgaar got close and whispered. "I hates you Tokis."

"I hates you too Skwisgaar."

A kiss coalesced; one conspirator leaned down and the other went on the tippy toes of his brutal black boots.

\m/

AN: Might provide some more back story for this minimalist sap later, but it was just so cavity inducing cute I couldn't resist posting it as is.


	13. Flick My Bic

AN: Not a happy one this, just a warning. It's also pretty much the most overdone thing I've ever written (and that's saying something) but whatsevers.

* * *

Toki's eyes scraped down the figures pushed up against the wall, more hatred in the orbs than they'd ever held before. Toki could hear rhythmic grunting all the way across the room, although the distance was negligible, he might as well have been a third body joining the melee. The sight of sweat repulsed him, but the look of satisfaction on each face repulsed him more. He felt as if he'd just been slapped with an oak two by four, his tongue actually moved against his molars, checking for cracks and loose teeth.

Skwisgaar was as magnificent as ever and didn't that just make Toki want to howl, to let something wild and vengeful free. But he was rooted here, knees locked tight, not sure if he had bones anymore or if he was just an empty hollow of skin hardened into the shape of a man.

Betrayal. Hurt. So much fucking hurt Toki would prefer it if someone had taken a chainsaw to his insides instead of what he was feeling at the moment. He was consumed in it, rolled in nails and shards of glass. The silver scars on his back ached dully, reminding him of other wounds, not the gaping one that had just opened up in his chest or the many tiny ones leaving him bleeding out, but good old childhood scars from beatings. Only this morning the faded rips in his outer layer had been stroked tenderly. Stroked by the elegant hand so lecherously and blatantly gripping at a flabby anonymous ass. _One person_ had been able to touch his mangled skin without Toki wanting to shudder, _one person,_ and that man-whore was pinning a disgusting woman to the wall with those very same long spider hands. Skwisgaar hadn't a care mashing that fat puckered with cellulite, not a speck of guilt in sight, as he thrust deeper within the unremarkable body of a whore. He wondered if that would change when Skwisgaar caught sight of him.

Somehow Toki had not seen this giant middle finger coming. He'd taken Skwisgaar at his word, which was weaker than the whisper-thin curls of bark off a silver birch.

Toki's eyes skipped right over the woman and focused on Skwisgaar's face, his features held the same expression Toki had seen hundreds of times from above and below. Toki had always believed the expression held love, but now he knew it for plain lust, clearly Toki hadn't gotten anything special from the man he gave his trust and his organ that beat. Toki got the leavings of Skwisgaar like every other common slut the man-whore tossed aside. Skwisgaar's fucks were about as remarkable as a used condom wrapper and Toki was another square in the garbage.

Toki wanted to say screw this and leave the room but it was as if he'd stepped in a puddle of superglue, or maybe it was just his muscles that had locked tight? Yeah it was definitely his muscles if the cracking his jaw just did was any indication. It was fairly clear that if he tried to move he'd become nothing more than a decorative floor rug, ready to be walked on some more.

A riptide pulled Toki under so quick there was no preparing for it when the whore and Skwisgaar's lips met. As Toki felt that sharp wave of pain, Skwisgaar's head moved, whipping hair out of his sweating face in a curtain of shiny strands. Toki knew the second Skwisgaar caught sight of him rooted there, pistoning hips faltered and stilled. Yet Toki could still hear the disgusting slapping of rutting violating the inside of his skull. Skwisgaar pushed the woman away and she fell, off-balance, to the floor. It didn't matter. The damage had been done.

"Tokis!" Shock made of syllables. That stupid extra 's' was at least three miles too intimate for the moment.

_You fucking cock-sucking betrayer!_ Toki hissed back. Out loud? In his thoughts? He could no longer tell the difference.

Their eyes caught and Toki's mercury and ice-coloured set watched as Skwisgaar looked away. Too bad the colour didn't poison like the metal.

Away, Toki caught on the word like a lifeline. Toki wanted to get away, he could leave, his legs _could_ move. What was that keening noise? Yard wolves? He vaguely thought Skwisgaar was saying something but it was lost in that horrible noise. He was not interested in any excuses anyway.

Toki turned from Skwisgaar. He didn't want to even think his name anymore but it scratched like a record and repeated.

Toki breathed in once deeply, holding it inside—the pressure the only thing keeping him upright—and came to a decision. There was no reason to wait, no way was his mind up for thinking about the admittedly insane decision he'd made. Toki looked at his right hand, opened it and closed it a few times, noticing how the tendons and joints moved. There was simple beauty in the motion and bitterness bit him right in the gaping hole where his heart once resided. He curled the fingers in close, forming an imperfect fist, one where the thumb rested inside for maximum damage. Toki's right hand cleaved the air, mechanical and disassociated, to punch the cement wall; he felt no impact, not even the reverberation.

What happens when a moving object hits an immovable one? Toki's thumb dislocated, bones cracked and fractured into tiny pieces and finally he felt them inside the skin; skin that was useless now but as a distorted bag to hold filaments of bone. He was vaguely aware he was screaming like the house was on fire, but it was his sanity that was burning into crisp whirls of smoke, not Mordhaus. It was a nice thought however, these walls once again being consumed in flames, perhaps not to be rebuilt. Toki could start the 'haus on fire this instant with zero regret. Should he? To see _his _bed consumed—that revolting den of sin that played at being pristine, angelic-white—might bring some gratification.

Toki looked down at the mangled mess of his swollen knuckles and fingers. This was good. So clean, so precise, yet so messy. Useless as a guitarist now, he'd be able to leave with no fuss at all, like a shiny ribbon cut with the sharpest of fabric scissors. Snip. And he would be cut out. His distended and purpling hand became what he felt inside, worthless. Somatic senses were starting to drain the emotional pain away, the agony was starting to pulse; shock no longer held him in a numbing embrace.

Toki took to his heels, not looking back even as he heard the blubbering of that faceless woman and shouts behind him. He would never be able to look on, Toki swallowed—he _could_ think the name—Skwisgaar again else he'd kill him, this was absolute fact. Toki had never and would never love lightly.

Toki pawed at a pocket, thinking how fortunate it was he'd lit up with Pickle today. The lighter was cheap, made of black plastic, but the flame caught with a satisfying snick.


	14. Throwing Rocks at Glass Houses

"That's what families is, peoples you hates."

-Toki Wartooth

* * *

_Whore. Bastard son._

It didn't matter how many times he told himself he wasn't his mother's mistakes; the words rankled, jangling their ghostly chains in Skwisgaar's mind. Over the years he'd done his best to break the links and quiet the circlets of metal with clean cutting guitar strings but when Serveta came to visit they clanked and slithered until they lassoed Skwisgaar tight, too tight for his lungs to want to expand and contract. The links were made of the thousand voices of mocking schoolmates, slighted men, disappointed angry women in their support group of hatred, and most often his mother, braided into a rope and forged stronger by the bellows of repeated firing. Skwisgaar tried not to think of failure but it caught up to him in quiet moments.

Skwisgaar was choked by fingers of metal and it was fitting his salvation was also his undoing.

Skwisgaar was resting in a dark closet hiding his shame from the others, deep in the bowels of Mordhaus, hugging his knees for fetal comfort and wheezing. His long artist fingers were trembling too bad to pick up a guitar.

When he'd laid eyes on Serveta this morning a slight hitch could be heard in his breathing, then it progressed until he was short of breath at every inhale. Inhalation had only gotten less effective since he'd escaped from his mother earlier in the evening, leaving her to seduce anything with half a libido and a cock. Skwisgaar wanted to let out a bitter laugh but his lungs put a stop to that. Wasn't there some saying about a black pot and kettle?

Minutes earlier he'd wrenched open the door to his hiding spot and tumbled down the wall onto his ass (because damn if his legs could hold him). Now the tremor in his hands had earth-quaked into the rest of his body. He was going to vomit, the toxic waste that was in his cranium was going to come out of his mouth with a bulimic's panache.

Skwisgaar couldn't fucking breathe. He had to get up, find some help. He lurched like a drunken hobo, trying to get to his feet but couldn't. His balance was off and he was trembling, it took so much more oxygen than he'd ever known to work muscles into use.

He turned and vomited, splattering sickness on the outside.

\m/

A light appeared, bright spots swirling in his eyes from lack of air. But then a silhouette materialized in dark relief, then a body, and he knew the door to his self-made crypt had opened. A small bit of Skwisgaar's panic eased, the chains a few links less than agonizing.

_"Skwisgaar you in here?" _Toki had not wanted to advertise to the entire band his increasingly desperate cries after Skwisgaar, so he was using Norwegian instead of English to be totally pathetic.

Toki had gotten frantic when he realized Skwisgaar had disappeared. Something in him had objected to the look on Skwisgaar's face when the tall man had said he was going to 'get some air'. The only air Skwisgaar 'took' was out of someone's lungs while sucking face. So Toki had waited fifteen squirming minutes on his chair, staring at Serveta, until he'd come after Skwisgaar. Toki was once again cursing that missed time. And Serveta. Mostly Serveta.

As of the moment Toki had checked nearing a hundred rooms, opened near a hundred eerily similar doors to disappointment. Each time he'd been expecting to find Skwisgaar just standing there, ready to call Toki an idiot or say, with disdain in his eyes and that familiar condescending voice, "I ams fine yous dildos."

_"Skwisgaar are you in there? Please be in here!"_

"Tokis!" The word was faint, barely pushed out from starved lungs. Toki's muscled arm pushed the door wider, illuminating the sorry figure shrinking from the light. A cockroach reaction.

"Skwisgaar!"

Toki fumbled desperately for the light switch, needing his senses. Then the smell hit him.

"Fucks!" The metal rectangle was illusive and it felt like he'd aged a year in seconds; Norwegian wasn't enough to express his distress.

"Ams you okay_?_" As Toki focused on Skwisgaar the question became rhetorical, but the paralyzed guitar caught his attention first, lying before him with its neck broken. It was a dead doe in foal killed in an accident of sport, neck flopping as the hunter tried to gut it and save the young. Unnatural. When Toki wrenched his eyes away from the guitar he got a clearer look at Skwisgaar, something telling him he'd avoided looking closely for a reason.

No.

Toki raced toward the prone figure, and his knees landed with a crack beside the shivering figure all garbed in black and daubed in vomit. He grabbed thin shoulders that were barely moving with Skwisgaar's desperate inhalations and looked into that stark face. Skwisgaar's mouth was open like a fish, and about as effective as a fish mouth-breathing, that is, not effective at all. Lips had turned a grey-blue. Fluorescent light could make anyone sallow but Skwisgaar's face was past that into Greek death mask territory.

"Whats do I needs to do Skwisgaar?" Toki couldn't think beyond _fuck fuck fuck._ A wheeze was his reply and he breathed deep in counterpoint, trying to think past desperation. It was Skwisgaar's job to lead! _CalmdownToki!_ _Skwisgaar needs a_ _doctor!_

"Cans you gets up Skwisgaar?" The blond man tried pushing up from the floor with one arm and couldn't, shaking like he was in the throes of delirium tremens. Was he having an allergic reaction? A panic attack? _Skwisgaar please please you stupid dildo, be okay. _

Toki balanced on his haunches and picked Skwisgaar up, not willing to waste time and excessively ready to err on the side of safety. Toki's arm looped around Skwisgaar's neck and one clamped beneath both knees. It was not an easy proposition but desperation gave Toki strength. He left the dim closet, man-sized cargo in hand, never noticing whatever else had filled it past Skwisgaar and that murdered guitar.

Toki's footfalls were heavy from the mass cradled within them and the veins in his arms stood out with effort. Toki desperately tried to jog faster, always faster, as dead weight took on another meaning, a sinister one.

"I's gots you. Calms down. We's going to da hospitals." Toki began in English looking down at that fading face but switched to Norwegian, always more comfortable using sentiment in his old language. "_It's going to be okay. Please calm down. Relax idiot. I won't let anything bad happen._"

Skwisgaar's shaking began to subside and Toki hoped his breathing improved but Toki couldn't tell for wishing it were so. The man had one desperate hand clenched it Toki's shirt that didn't appear to be letting go anytime soon.

_"No hospital."_ Skwisgaar could talk again, responding in kind; Toki's words were easing the chains around his chest. Skwisgaar thought he would find relief in solace but it turned out he'd needed far more stronger fingers than his own to lift the thick iron he'd faltered under. The thin cotton and feel of Toki were all that was binding him to the here and now.

_"Toki."_ Another small sound of inhalation could be heard. "_It's getting better_." Wheeze.

So it wasn't an allergic reaction then?

"_Set me down_." Wheeze.

"_NOW_!" Skwisgaar's breathy voice was adamant and Toki could see the stubborn set of his jaw, it made Skwisgaar's cheekbones deepen further into sickly shadowed hollows, but determined sickly shadowed hollows.

Toki kept apace for a little while longer but his arms were starting to ache with shooting pains and he could feel the sweat creeping down his back in rivulets. For the past few minutes he'd been choosing a stone block in the distance to focus on; telling himself to go just that much farther. At least if he could get Skwisgaar on his feet and walking they could make it to a doctor eventually instead of the far side of never.

Toki set the man down, gently. Skwisgaar kept a hand clenched in Toki's shirt and then to Toki's shock Skwisgaar lowered his forehead until it rested on his strong shoulder, the pose making Skwisgaar look of exhaustion personified. It was like he'd given up. NO. Toki wrapped his palms around Skwisgaar's waist to steady him, breathing hard from exertion. If only he could he'd tether Skwisgaar to this earth with his bare hands. He could smell the scent of the bent man, the spicy hints of his expensive shampoo and the lingering scent of alcohol, panic sweat and...puke.

The inhalations near Toki's ear were shallow but better than they had been. It was just a relief to hear Skwisgaar breathing at all. The rusted light from the medieval torches on the wall ceased to be so foreboding.

Toki nearly jumped when he felt warmth past what would be Skwisgaar's skin on his shoulder. That could only mean one thing.

"_Skwisgaar shh_," Toki took a hand to the shaking back, rubbing soothing circles. "_Don't cry. Just breathe. Everything is going to be fine_." Toki ran through every phrase and more he'd ever wanted to hear in the middle of the night when human monsters crept into his mind and became the shadows on the wall.

Skwisgaar wasn't demonstrative or affectionate at the best of times and to show lack of pride was...probably why a wracking sob burst out of Skwisgaar—the kind that isn't given it's taken—the shame of his weakness making the sadness and self-hate ten times worse and ten times harder to reign in.

"_Skwisgaar?_" Toki kept rubbing that shaking back, feeling the bumps and ribs as they expanded; Toki was back to playing his own painful ladder of ribs when he was homeless and scared and there was nothing to be done about it.

"_How about we go somewhere more private?_" He had to distract Skwisgaar with movement, anything, otherwise the man would start to hyperventilate in his leftover panic and huffing tears.

Skwisgaar lifted his head but Toki didn't look at his face, knowing Skwisgaar would hate him for it if he did. He focused on a shadow on the floor, finding it morphed into Skwisgaar's dark likeness but the mischievous kind, like Peter Pan's.

"_I won't look Skwisgaar,"_ Toki snagged Skwisgaar's palm in his own. _"But I'll lead._"

They faded into the interior of the 'haus. Toki and Skwisgaar were able to navigate the passages without seeing one Klokateer. There had been a massive fan riot and all Hoods had been needed to shoot suicidal fans climbing the walls, the muted screaming could be heard whenever they passed a window; the outside world was a mess of ashen smoke, flashes of lightening and vague popping of automatic weapons. It was too bad Toki couldn't truly appreciate the beautifully arresting sights and sounds, he was too caught up in navigation and the feel of Skwisgaar's cold fingers.

It was Toki's room they met first. Probably the better of the two options of sleeping places. The relics of childhood it preserved somehow made it easier to fall apart and not feel shame, reverting the pair to youth, a place more acceptable to feel emotion. There was no space to run away from anything, the room was that intimate. Fill it with two distraught people and you needed a shoehorn and a prayer to fit inside around all the distress.

Crossing the familiar threshold some of Toki's anxiety eased, model planes at inappropriate times could do that to a person. He paused and squeezed the hand he was holding. Toki was still facing away from Skwisgaar when he spoke softly, "_Can I turn around?_"

Skwisgaar squeezed back.

"_Ja Toki, if yous must._" The voice was defeated and hoarse but held no trace of wheezing at all. Toki turned to see bright eyes, no longer pooled with tears but red with the evidence of them, as if the salt water had burned as it did in open wounds. Skwisgaar's face was swollen and his lips plump. Toki reached up a hand and stroked the bottom lip with his thumb and then let the hand drop when Skwisgaar's eyes closed as if in shame. Toki didn't find Skwisgaar any less for his the salt water on his face, but he realized Skwisgaar would never believe that.

Toki could almost see something living beyond the iced over lentic system that was Skwisgaar, the flashing scales of fish swimming in the depths below that frozen expanse, but they were more treasured for their elusive rarity.

Toki tugged on their connection, their twined hands, and led Skwisgaar to the tiny bed. There he knelt at Skwisgaar's feet, almost reverent, and pulled off his leather boots, then socks, while glacier eyes stared almost vacantly at him. The pants came next and then the soiled muscle shirt was pulled free from listless arms. Toki tucked Skwisgaar into the tiny bed, stroking the bits he could reach and trying to bring comfort in the tight tuck he made.

Skwisgaar was distancing himself from his weakness, pretending the moments weren't happening, his only defense.

Toki pulled off his own tall shitkickers and stacked the set with their rightful partners, Skwisgaar's tall leather boots. Both sets drooped side-by-side just enough that they leaned on each other as if they were exhausted too. Toki further dressed down for bed, taking a second to brush a finger over the wrinkled starburst pattern Skwisgaar's clenched hand had made in his blue shirt. Then he let his clothes drop wherever they may.

Toki snuck beneath the covers to lay beside Skwisgaar who was on his side, facing the wall, tense and curled into himself—the more brittle, the easier to shatter, Toki thought. He turned off the bedside lamp and nestled closer, becoming a human bridge. Toki banded strong arms around the man, slipping one beneath Skwisgaar's neck to cradle his head in the crook of his elbow and the other around his side. Skwisgaar inched closer, Toki nuzzled, and Skwisgaar grabbed the palm near his neck with his own. The scent of vomit was light in the air, but Toki had slept through far worse scents and even with more vomit on his own self; partying with Dethklok was not a clean proposition.

Skwisgaar's sigh broke Toki's four-chamber and he felt like ripping out the beating organ to take away Skwisgaar's pain. Surely something in this universe would take it in exchange? Toki curled as close to Skwisgaar as possible, knees fitting into knees, knowing it was all he could do.

"_It was Serveta." _Skwisgaar's voice was barely there, not wobbling or frail, just a hushing quiet. Toki tightened the connection of their hands._ "I just didn't want you to see me…like _that_._"

"_I know,_" Toki inhaled to breathe the next words out on the skin of Skwisgaar's shoulder, his lips pulling the cool layer with each consonant and vowel. "_And I still love you even if you are an idiot sometimes, well most of the time._" Toki wished words could be made of healing balm, but they were useless as anything but a patch for wound that would never heal over completely. He knew Skwisgaar was wrecked by events of the night with the absence of his disenchanted scoffing at Toki's sentiment or a rebuttal for his insults. Another pang of unease struck Toki, worry ever present.

Skwisgaar turned Toki's palm and kissed the pad at the base of his thumb, soothing Toki somewhat; the motion was enough to say a few simple things, not the least of which was _thank you _and_ I love you too_. Skwisgaar had always communicated more through what he left unsaid, and Toki always seemed to understand his stunted language.

_Whore. Bastard son. _Toki settled himself more comfortably behind Skwisgaar, squeaking closer, and the words were drowned out_; _Toki was fluent in the unsaid too.


	15. The Land of Rape and Honey

You ever have that moment when you see something so ridiculously attractive that endorphins sink teeth in you like they'd morphed into vampire bats and your abdomen clenches hard enough you'd think you were gonna get punched? Yeah, it'd been a really bad idea to work out with Toki. All the extra exertion and heart pumping action in Skwisgaar's body was read as powerful physical attraction and it was laser focused at one muscled up rhythm guitarist.

_Those am some likable abs. __  
_

Skwisgaar had left his black jeans on and he was so glad because holy shit the hard throbbing length in his pants had no chance in hell of going down and he wasn't about to take his eyes off Toki to cover it. The man had ditched his shirt after about the third mile on the treadmill and he was doing some sort of interval workout where he'd sprint for a few minutes, spring off the treadmill with athletic grace and then either do a round of crunches or one handed pushups, muscles undulating and flexing the entire time.

Skwisgaar thought the pushups best, he just wanted to lick the salty sweat that trickled between the grooves of Toki's spine and the muscles that surrounded the length of bone. He wanted to run his hands over the steaming skin and hear Toki let out a moan. Wanted to continue down the slick back with his palms taking the shorts with them as they went. Then put his mouth and teeth where his hands had been...

He was base with lust, wild. Watching Toki and barely doing bicep curls was about all Skwisgaar could manage. Thankfully his panting was drowned out by the treadmill.

Toki's shorts and body were dripping, the nylon fabric flipping against his legs with a quiet splat. It was just so heart-pounding primal. If they'd been on the hunt Toki would have taken down the auroch with a spear, letting out a war cry of triumph, leg muscles thick and spread... Oh fuck! There was a lurch and a tingle in Skwisgaar's cock. He shut the vision down. Skwisgaar put away the weight he'd been holding and uncurled his body with a sensual stretch, rolling hips and legs found him in front of Toki on the tread in no time.

Toki was focused, eyes like chips of igneous rock, grimace on his lips, pushing himself. Those feet of his hit the rubber with punishing speed, a primitive thump.

"Skwisgaar whats?" Toki's voice was hard and annoyed and forceful.

Skwisgaar just took off his shirt, body contorting into a lean and sexy S curve. His eyes found Toki's, whose eyebrows had popped with disbelief. They landed on the button of Skwisgaar's fly when elegant hands dropped there with intent. The button released and then the zipper gave way with a hiss, Skwisgaar's hiss. Toki's body was moving, a beautiful machine, but his whole essence was on Skwisgaar's slow reveal.

Skwisgaar pushed at the fabric and Toki's hands gripped the supports on the treadmill, muscles in his arms popping tight.

Skwisgaar's palmed his erection and Toki was transfixed, legs pumping, sweat dripping and musky around them. On his first upstroke Toki jerked. Eyes drooped to see Toki's nylons tented. A flush had bloomed from Toki's cheeks and spread to his heaving chest. Breathing was so harsh it was a sensual cadence in the room.

A second squeezing pump and Skwisgaar moved closer, close enough to set a palm in the middle of Toki's wide chest, right where his ribs met. The muscles flexed beneath his palm and his hips jerked. Skwisgaar's eyes were still locked on Toki's and he watched them watch hungrily. He switched palms, taking his hand off Toki's chest with a rasp of nails and skin. He licked the palm and took it where it was needed, salt and Toki an aphrodisiac on his tongue. As soon as the fluid hit his cock he was spilling, unable to contain himself when surrounded with Toki, his seed going everywhere on a sharp exhale. Toki didn't seem to mind, his mouth opened wide and his hips pumped too, a look of pain and pleasure on his features. Toki let out a strangled cry and started to stumble.

Skwisgaar put a slender leg on the edge of the treadmill, propping his body to the side and paused the belt. Toki's knees nearly gave out as the mechanical hiss and the tattoo of his feet slowed. He sank onto his elbows all draped over the machine. Skwisgaar came behind him and rubbed up against all that warmth and wet smoothness, biting Toki on the back of the neck after pushing heavy hair out of the way.

"Next time ams you who does pushups overs me. Naked." Skwisgaar paused. "Preferabsly inside me."

A laugh just burst out of Toki, essential and free. He was just so fucking happy; life was too perfect. It had taken Skwisgaar and himself so long to get to this point but it was _so_ worth it.

Skwisgaar came back into himself enough to want to shower off the sweat but he couldn't resist dragging a hand down the ribbed muscle of Toki's abdomen first.

"Yous done? I's going to shower and is always _very_ lonely in ders." Skwisgaar turned and sauntered away. Turns out Toki did have strength in his legs after all.

* * *

AN: "The Land of Rape and Honey" actually exists as slogan on a 'Welcome to' sign. Not enough people in the world are aware of this. Funny example of changing connotations and the amount of rapeseed (canola for non-agriculturists) in my province.

I am not crazy for titling this as such, I swear. 'The Land of Rape and Honey' is meant to convey a place of plenty and that is where Skwisgaar and Toki are in this particular snapshot.


	16. Cyclical

Toki blinked slowly, eyes dry and burning. Expensive drunk.

He remembered every slash, every burning-crisp feeling of snapping leather.

"This is to bring you closer to God!" The words were harsh and cracking, voice ruined by disuse. Sobs were sown into his chest and to let them out was to prolong the pain.

Time had warped into itself and he was stuck there. Ten years old and a burden. His father a looming scythe, cut in black. Sin was the crack of a whip and the bible imprinted on his cheek.

Toki flashed back into twenty-five, swaying on his feet, not much of a relief. He vomited onto the white tiles of a bathroom, everything swaying, so sick he thought it would be a better to die instead of regurgitating his insides. He closed his eyes and woke to find someone holding his hair back as he worshiped a porcelain god.

This was punishment for his sins.

\m/

It was his mother's hair he was holding. It was soft, the colour was all wrong, but it didn't matter. Skwisgaar was ten years old and frightened, not understanding the implications of what he was doing because it was all he'd ever known.

He'd loved her once. The scent of her perfume a balm, hands on his arms as he went to sleep. Folding laundry and stacking it onto his bed in little piles that were so very crisp and perfect. He liked the square edges, smelling of the breeze when she hung clothes on the line in the summer, miniature snapshots of outside.

It was the decline of age that got her. The decline of attention, then it was the wrong attention. Everything fed her, the failure of aging, the success of men in her bed. It was escape. It was control.

And now Skwisgaar understood it all. He looked at it in Toki, in Pickles, in Nathan, and he admitted, in himself. Failure, but beautiful escape nonetheless.

For they wrote songs to her.

Alcohol.

They wrote laments of her.

Alcohol.

They fucked themselves into forgetting in her.

Alcohol.

They should hate her for the beautiful whore she was.

\m/

_The next morning..._

"Hey Tokis." Bleary eyes met bleary eyes.

"Hey Skwisgaar."

"Wants a drink?" A trembling hand reached out.

The glass bottle nestled between dry lips and then returned to the giver. Skwisgaar eyed the mouth around the screw-cap edges thinking a hard fuck just might be the thing to beat his mind clean.


	17. In Situ

"Are you guys like fucking cuddling?" It was framed as a question but it came out of Nathan's mouth more like flat disappointment. What the pair were doing was definitely not metal in the least and they didn't even have the decency to do it in private. They were curled up tighter than two kittens in a bunnyhug, arms, legs and all kinds of shit entwined. "If your going to do, uh, that at least do it where no one can see you or cover yourself in blood like you're dying. Or just don't. Yeah don't. Like stop. Fuck." Nathan's brain was going to explode, cuteness made him want to stab out his eyeballs with broken light bulbs.

Murderface chimed in, "Just look at them Nathan. I thought we raished them better." Murderface had found the two Scandinavians a constant source of amusement once he'd gotten over the idea of them. They were so easy to bother, it made being an asshole easy, it really did. The foreigner's annoyance was the one thing that could be counted on to crease his hatchet face with a smirk.

Skwisgaar just raised one haughty streak of an eyebrow, less than impressed. "I am olders than..."

Toki piped up, cutting Skwisgaar short and got to his feet, face filling with blood like he'd been slapped on either cheek. He retorted, "Skwisgaar hads a bads week so we is going to sit right here and yous going to SHUT YOUS BIG FATS TRAPS ABOUTS IT! Yous gots dat you cocksuckers?"

The two slightly-inebriated men looked stunned at the sudden appearance of Toki's dark passenger, mouths dropping open.

Toki and Skwisgaar had been all snuggle bugged close on a spikey metal couch, totally content, until their quiet time had been so rudely interrupted. They'd had the great room all to themselves and had been lost in each other until the two metal heads had stomped into the room and disrupted their decidedly non-brutal snuggles.

Toki sat back down and the two Scandinavians turned away, not caring in the least about any comments the others could or would interject. Skwisgaar smiled on the inside from Toki's actions but no expression made its way onto his blank countenance. Possessiveness and protectiveness both looked good on Toki, really fucking good.

"Yous blockings the teevees wit' yous fats butts Moidaface. Moves." Toki was still high on power.

"I'll have you know my butt ish perfectly proporshioned!" Murderface defended his anatomy but nonetheless moved his ass out of the way. Skwisgaar huffed in humour and couldn't help but be proud of his rhythm.

Toki's anger could blow in like the wind, bringing all kinds of garbage with it (curiously not the least of which were McDick's wrappers) but the emotion also dissipated just as quickly. Toki'd gone back to snuggling with Skwisgaar, his head nestled just right on a bony shoulder. They fit together, dexter and sinister, clasped together like hands. The duo were exactly perfect in height difference for the position and it was claimed as theirs, a got-to when they were alone. Toki supposed it was now a favourite when they were in public too; he didn't much mind either way, merely glad Skwisgaar let him close sometimes. Toki let out a barely-there sound that settled out somewhere on the scale between a purr and a sigh.

Skwisgaar's mouth quirked infinitesimally, amused and satisfied.

* * *

AN: I haven't had the time to write anything involved right meow and the quality has kind-of hit the gutter because of it. Sahry.


End file.
